Poltergeist
by Spazzkitty
Summary: Arthur Kirkland, a high school senior, was obsessed with the supernatural until he found his room haunted by an incredibly annoying poltergeist with an ego the size of bloody England who refused to leave and just rest in peace. ON HIATUS. Don't kill me
1. Chapter 1

It's Spazzkitty again, the author who matches with every color except chartreuse! This is my tenth fanfic! YAY DOUBLE DIGITS! This concept was invented on a whim, and written on a whim. Likewise, it'll probably be updated on a whim. This was written because xcorkx found the concept hilarious and begged me to write it. BASK IN THE GLORY! Oh yeah. Insert standard disclaimer here, Kthx.

***

Poltergeist

Chapter 1

Arthur had gotten detention. Again. Whenever he was sent to detention, to drab, unclean, smelling-slightly-of-cheese room 58, the principal always tried to sugar-coat it. Euphemize it.

"Mr. Kirkland, you'll have to report to room 58 again after school today. What? Detention? Heavens no, lad. For an outstanding student such as yourself? Mr. Blatbur-" He was the detention teacher "-just needs an extra pair of hands to help organize the bookshelf he has in the back of his room."

As if. Blatbur was notorious for being as neat as a pin, (something England admired, as he himself was almost unhealthily organized) and the books had been in alphabetical order (and by edition within that frame) since probably the beginning of time. The principal was aware that Arthur knew the truth, but continued to try to convince the boy he wasn't being punished and going to detention. It was pretty obvious why.

Arthur was not only valedictorian, but the senior class president and a member of the peer tutoring program. It would look bad for the school if one of their best students was put into detention for his weird occult-like behavior, and Arthur's strange actions often qualified as both weird _and_ occult-like.

Today's after-school torture session was instigated because Arthur had spray-painted a gigantic spirit-summoning symbol on the cafeteria floor. The day before, he had put salt all over the entryways of the school as an effort to keep out demons. And the day before _that_ he had planted a ring of mushrooms in front of the school, claiming he wanted to form a fairy circle and summon the 'small folk' to bring luck to the school for the upcoming field day.

Arthur groaned, sitting slumped in his chair, tapping his fingers idly against the desk. When the bell rang, what seemed like an eternity later, he grabbed his bag and all but ran out of the room. He knew that he should probably stop trying to summon the spirits in the world (He was positive they existed), but he couldn't help it. It was his dream in life to see something supernatural and real. So far, he was eighteen, and he hadn't seen anything qualifying as supernatural. The closest he'd ever gotten was his classmate Gilbert, the red-eyed albino, who he was pretty sure shared some DNA with the devil. The guy had been to Juvenile Hall at least three times. He sighed wistfully, inserting the key into his front door and opening it.

"I'm home," he announced to nobody in particular. The small apartment was eerily quiet, as usual. He sighed again, this time in mild frustration, thumping his bag onto the small table in the kitchenette. Arthur lived alone with his younger brother, so he didn't know why he was so upset by the silence. Probably because when his parents were alive, their cozy home had always been loud and cheerful. He bit his lip, forcing back the memories, and rifled through his messenger bag for his math homework. Grabbing a chewed pencil as well, he brought his sheet to his bedroom to do the work at his desk. Once he opened the door, he stopped dead. Somebody was in his room.

The figure was lying on his bed, sprawled ungracefully on his stomach, flipping through a magazine listlessly. His blue eyes shot up to look at the gaping student when he uttered a choked-sounding squeak of shock, and a small smile quirked his mouth.

"You're a weird one, aren't you?" The blue-eyed boy said casually, as if invading people's homes was something he did often. "I look under your bed for some magazines, and you don't have anything even mildly perverted. All you have is a guide for the breeding and care of unicorns. You _do_ know they're not real, don't you?"

"They _are_ real, thank you very much," Arthur said without thinking. God, was _everyone_ a nonbeliever? "Who the hell are you?"

"Alfred," the other boy said, turning his blue-eyed gaze back to Unicorns Monthly.

"Alfred what?"

"Jones." He flipped a page and chuckled. "Unicorns need a daily bath in the dust of one thousand rainbows? This is crap."

"What are you doing in my house?" he snapped. He would never say it, but he was more than a little offended by Alfred's tactless review of his magazine.

"You're the one who summoned me," Alfred said, not looking up.

"Excuse me?" Alfred heaved a sigh and put the magazine down, shifting position so he was sitting and facing Arthur. The other boy found it a little unnerving looking directly into his unreadable sapphire eyes.

"You made a summoning circle. In pink spray-paint, I may add. It was the most unmanly thing I've ever seen, and you made it quite sloppily. Next time, get a ruler. All your symbols sloped downwards, and you forgot the third figure in the fourth sequence. But it was good enough to work. So here I am… your own personal poltergeist." He paused for dramatic effect.

"You really expect me to believe that you're a ghost?" Arthur said skeptically.

"Look at me, then," challenged Alfred. "Take a good look at me and tell me I'm not a ghost."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but took a good look at Alfred. The first thing he noticed was that Alfred was actually pretty handsome. He had ruffled blonde hair and glasses resting precariously on the bridge of his nose, like windows to his gorgeous blue eyes. The second thing that came to his attention was that Alfred was slightly transparent. He looked normal at a glance, but when you examined him critically, you could see the Union Jack bedspread through his brown bomber jacket. Arthur's mouth dropped open slightly, which caused the other blonde to smirk.

"Do you believe me now?"

"I… I, um…" he stammered, brain working feverishly for a reasonable explanation. He couldn't find one.

"You, um, think I'm right and incredibly awesome?" Alfred supplied eagerly.

"…I'm surprised you haven't broken my bed with the weight of your enormous ego."

"Ouch," winced Alfred. "Lose your tiara, Ice Princess?"

"Do me a favor and leave my house," the British teen snapped in reply. That made Alfred cackle.

"Sorry, Princess, but you summoned me. And I don't plan on leaving any time soon." Arthur glowered, which caused Alfred to cock his head to one side and look curiously at him. "You know, you're kinda cute when you're mad."

"Excuse me?" He snapped, his face flushing red.

"You're cute," he said again, beginning to grin. "I hadn't noticed before."

"Leave or else," he tried again, the uncertainty in his words evident. Both boys knew that there was really no threat he could follow through on. The poltergeist smirked hugely.

"I don't think so. I'm beginning to enjoy my new room and my cute new roommate. I have a feeling you and I are going to get along fantastically."

Arthur growled, low in his throat and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Alfred chuckled, turning back to the magazine.

"Wow, that guy needs to get laid. Now where was I? Oh yeah. 'Frolicking in the Flowers: How to Exercise Your Winged Wonder'. …He really _does_ need to get laid."


	2. Chapter 2

Word up, Homies! Spazzkitty's comin' atcha, the author who should never speak ghetto, as she's whiter than tapioca pudding. I was shocked at the positive reception this got , so I'm glad to bring you chapter two! I'm going to take this opportunity to thank my reviewers from the bottom of my heart. I LOVE YOU ALL!! Also, please check out my collab with xcorkx under her fics! It's a Hetalia parody of Hercules, with Alfred as our dashing hero, and it IS JoKer! So go check it out if you can! I don't own Hetalia, so PLEASE don't sue me.

***

Poltergeist

Chapter 2

Arthur was standing at his stove, glaring balefully at the frying pan in which eggplant was frying. His teeth were clenched together, probably because of the eyes he felt boring into him. Even his (not particularly infinite) patience was beginning to wane thin as the minutes ticked by. Finally, he turned around to glower at the ghost sitting cross-legged on his table.

"What are you doing?"

"Staring at your ass," Alfred answered immediately with a sunny smile. Arthur's face heated up and he grabbed a wooden spoon from the cutting board adjacent to the stove, throwing it at him. It shot through Alfred's grinning face and stabbed the wall behind him. "I'm already dead, remember? What are you going to do, kill me again?"

"Don't tempt me," Arthur muttered under his breath, turning back to his frying pan. He heard Alfred chuckling behind his back.

"Dude, you made an indent in your wall!" He cried with the air of someone making a great discovery. "That's so friggin sweet!"

"I'm going to kill him," Arthur said to himself like a mantra. "I'm going to kill him."

"I'm already DEAD!" Alfred reminded him, bracing both feet against the floorboards and yanking at the spoon embedded in the wall. It took a colossal pull and quite a bit of dislodged plaster, but nonetheless Alfred slapped the spoon triumphantly on the table. "Did you see me pull the spoon out of the wall? I'm pretty awesome, huh? I must have been strong to pull that out! It was in there deep! Jealous?"

"Of what?" Arthur refused to turn around to see the smugness in the other person's face.

"Of my awesome strength!"

"Considering I was the one who managed to get the spoon stuck in the first place, not particularly." He resisted the urge to smirk when silence met his answer. There were a few more awkward moments before the door to the apartment slammed open.

"I'm home, brother!" A childish voice chirped as a sixth-grader barreled into the room. "Hey, who's the guy floating on our table?"

"You can see me?" said Alfred, surprised.

"You can see him?" Arthur asked as well. The landlady had come in earlier to talk about that month's rent and she hadn't noticed the obnoxious blonde right in her face, blowing raspberries at her.

"Of course I can see you, stupid! Hiding in plain sight only works with little kids. I'm an adult!" Alfred gave Arthur a skeptical sideways glance, and the teenager sighed, resting his face in his palm.

"Peter, you're only twelve." The tone in Arthur's voice indicated this conversation had been repeated many times before.

"I'm an adult!" Peter insisted. Alfred glided over to him in midair.

"You're pretty stubborn, huh? I like you, kid."

"Thanks! Hey, how are you floating?"

"Because I'm a ghost and I'm haunting your house now."

Peter burst into laughter. "You seriously expect me to believe that? Only a kid would fall for such a dumb explanation!"

Alfred rolled his eyes, walking over and standing in the middle of the stove, muttering something about how kids today had lost their sense of wonder and were all becoming logical little robots.

"OH MY GOD!" Peter squawked. "YOU'RE- YOU JUST-"

"Do _you_ think I'm awesome?" Alfred asked eagerly. "Because your brother is too much of a stick in the mud to agree."

"Y-YOU'RE IN MY STOVE!"

"Am I? Really?" The ghost said, his mouth dropped open in fake surprise. "You're right! I am! How extremely awesome!" Peter turned to his brother.

"Is he really a ghost?" Peter asked skeptically. Arthur rolls his eyes.

"Unfortunately, yes. And he refuses to leave the house. How were Tino and Berwald?"

The young blonde perked up at the mention of his favorite babysitters. "Good! They're planning their wedding in June! But they made supper for me, so you don't have to make me anything."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Oh really? What did you eat?"

Here Peter began to flounder. "Um, um… Chocolate!"

"Chocolate?"

"Yes! We ate chocolate! Lots of it! I'm so full!"

"So _everyone_ ate chocolate?" Arthur said, smiling.

"Yep! All three of us!"

"You _do_ know Berwald is allergic to chocolate, don't you?" He asked. Peter froze guiltily. "Nice try. I know eggplant isn't your favorite, but I made it just for you, so please eat it."

"Is THAT what this is?" Alfred interrupted, gesturing at the frying pan on the stove. "I thought you threw up in the pan! You're going to make the kid eat this?" Peter clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles as his brother's face turned furious.

"Excuse me?" He said, his voice dangerously soft. "Say that again."

"Your. Food. Looks. Like. Vomit." Alfred repeated, smiling innocently.

"Peter, go to your room," Arthur growled. The young blonde stumbled towards his door, turning around to mouth a 'Thank you' to Alfred behind his brother's back. The blonde ghost winked in response. A look of confusion flitted across Arthur's face, but by the time he turned around, his brother had snuck into his room quietly.

"You can't cook," stated Alfred. The other boy whipped around furiously to find that Alfred had floated ridiculously close to him and their noses were now touching.

"Augh!" He yelped, taking a jump backwards.

"Your eyes are green," The ghost said in surprise. "Very, very green. They're beautiful."

"What are you talking about?" snapped Arthur, blushing pink to the roots of his hair. "This isn't about my eyes. This is about a very rude poltergeist coming into my house and insulting my cooking!"

"Well, look at it! If you feed it to your brother, he's going to be barfing all night! And then he's going to be bulimic and it'll be all your fault."

Arthur looked sullenly at the mess that was cemented to the pan that not even a chisel would be able to separate. "Look, I can't cook. I've heard it from plenty of people. But it's just my brother and me here, and somebody needs to keep him from starving. And he's only twelve, so-"

"I'll do it," interrupted Alfred. That threw Arthur off his stride.

"What?"

"I can cook," the other boy answered. His face was flushed, masking its transparent quality almost unnoticeable. "I can make you food."

"Are you any better of a cook than me?" Arthur said acidly. Alfred raised his blue eyes from his shoes (where he had been looking in embarrassment) to glare heatedly at the other boy.

"Excuse me? Are you doubting my awesomeness?"

"You know what? I am! I am doubting your awesomeness!" He barked. Alfred pursed his lips somewhat primly.

"Fine then. As you seem to have no appreciation for my epic talents, I don't need to stand here and be insulted by you. I'm leaving!" With that said, the ghost turned and floated through a door. Arthur sighed, choking down the slight guilt he felt. Maybe he should have tried to be a little nicer. The other boy HAD offered to cook, although how a ghost would make food was beyond Arthur. Still…

Any lingering pity Arthur felt was obliterated instantly when he heard the click of a lock.

"DID YOU SERIOUSLY JUST LOCK ME OUT OF MY OWN BEDROOM?"

He heard a maniacal cackle from the other side of the door as he jiggled the doorknob, swearing slightly. "Maaaaaaaaybe!" came the reply.

Screw sympathy. Arthur was going to kill him.


	3. Chapter 3

Tis Spazzkitty, the author who would appreciate it if you PLEASE DON'T SHOOT ME FOR THE LATE UPDATE!!! –grovels- I know it's late, but I've been busy as heck recently, and this did NOT want to be written. Plus, I update fics in a rotating schedule, so I have to get through Parent Trap and Right-Side Up before I can reupdate this. SORRY, GUYS! But I promise I still love y'all! I don't own Hetalia or Liverpool (which was a Beatles reference for my beloved sister XD)! WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, ENJOY CHAPTER 3!!

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Poltergeist

Chapter Three

Arthur stirred sleepily, awakened by the enticing smell of sausages and maple syrup and- was that bacon? - Bacon and the sizzle of a frying pan. He slowly rubbed his eyes, saying a rather ungentlemanly word when a particularly bright beam of sunlight shone cheerfully in his face. He groaned and turned over on his side, yanking his thick covers over his head and snuggling deeper into the warm nest of sheets. Wait. Covers? Sheets?

The blonde bolted up to a sitting position only to confirm that, yes, he was tucked into his bed in his own room. How had he gotten there? The last thing Arthur remembered was reluctantly falling asleep at around midnight on the couch after trying unsuccessfully to break into his own room that a certain specter had locked him out of. He screwed up his face in an effort to remember exactly what happened after he had fell asleep and his subconscious came up with a fuzzy image from when he was half-asleep of warm arms cradling him and carrying him to his bed and of semi-transparent blonde locks brushing his cheeks when the other figure leaned in to tap their foreheads together accompanied by a whispered, "Good night, weirdo."

Arthur's face turned bright red and he covered it with his hands. Why did he have to remember something stupidly embarrassing like that? In an attempt to wipe his memory of his horrible mortification, he sprung out of bed and staggered to his door. Throwing it open, he looked into the kitchenette and froze. All he could think was _'Oh my god, my poor table.'_

Arthur's sturdy, durable, much-beloved table was creaking under the weight of a large breakfast. And large didn't mean a part-of-this-balanced-breakfast breakfast. Large meant a this-breakfast-will-single-handedly-end-the-famines-in-Africa breakfast. There were eggs sunny side up and scrambled eggs and omelets. There were sausages, bacon, a whole loaf of bread turned into toast slices, pancakes, waffles, fresh fruit, crepes, croissants, bagels, and oatmeal. Basically, everything you could have ever wanted from a breakfast was there in this extreme, ridiculous, over-the-top breakfast. Along with a teapot full of god knows what.

Arthur just blinked for a little in stupefied silence before turning to the figure at the stove, who was currently pulling one of two tins of muffins out of the oven. "Do you seriously think we need more food?" he spluttered by way of a 'good morning'. The blonde in question turned from the tin to beam at the other boy.

"GOOD MORNING, STARSHINE!" He sang, spinning around and presenting the still-steaming tin to him. "Muffin?"

"Um, I'm alright. Thanks."

"They're banana nut," Alfred enticed, waving the tray under Arthur's nose. When the other boy didn't react, he pulled them back with a shrug. "Suit yourself."

"Why the hell did you make so much food?" Arthur asked, picking up a croissant and waving it around for emphasis. Alfred looked at the pastry warily, like he was expecting Arthur to clobber him with it.

"This is all in a heroic effort to save your brother from anorexia," he said pointedly. "Because he didn't eat last night and he's probably never going to eat again if you're the one cooking. This is for the greater good."

"If he wasn't so stubborn," Arthur snapped, turning steadily redder, "then he'd certainly eat enough."

"If he wasn't so _smart_," Alfred corrected, narrowing his eyes, "then he'd eat enough." The two stared angrily at each other for a few seconds before it was interrupted by the creak of a door. They turned simultaneously to see Peter looking out the door, which was opened a crack.

"I'm not that hungry," he said quietly. "Can I just skip breakfast today?" Arthur rolled his eyes.

"For god's sake," he snapped. "I didn't cook it, so just sit and eat."

"Y-you didn't?" Peter asked, trying and failing to hide his look of eagerness. He opened his door wider. "What is it?"

"WELL," Alfred began, smiling hugely. "It's the best goddamn breakfast the world has ever KNOWN!"

At the same time, Arthur said "It's nine-tenths of the world's food supply in one absurd meal." Peter raised his rather large eyebrows in surprise, inching forward until he saw the food piled up on the creaking wooden table.

"Holy crow," he breathed.

"ISN'T IT AWESOME?" crowed Alfred delightedly. Peter didn't answer, having already grabbed a plate and beginning to shovel forkfuls of food onto it as fast as physically possible.

"Peter, stop inhaling it," Arthur reprimanded, begrudgingly taking a few buttermilk pancakes onto his plate. He wasn't doing it because the food looked delicious. Not at all. It was because that idiot had worked so hard making the food that he may as well stomach it. Yeah. That's what it was.

"You're going to make breakfast every day from now on, right? You're going to rescue me from my brother's…erm…_interesting_ food?" Peter asked, ignoring his brother and staring at Alfred pleadingly, an effect that was slightly ruined by his chipmunk cheeks stuffed with sausage. Arthur hit him lightly on the arm.

"That's rude," he scolded his younger brother, who shrugged sheepishly.

"No, I'd like that," Alfred said a little quietly, a warm smile stretching across his face. "Really. I'd like that." Arthur felt blood rushing to his face, but he couldn't tear his gaze from the ghost's sunny smile. "I'm pretty hot, aren't I?" Alfred said cockily and Arthur managed to look away, scowling as his face turned even redder.

"In your dreams, Casper," he retorted, taking another mouthful of egg.

--

Arthur's right eyebrow twitched. And twitched again. He heard an irritating whistle (The first seven or so bars of Zip-A-Dee Doo-Dah) and clenched his fist in an effort to stop himself from punching the nearest wall, telephone pole, or person.

Alfred. Was. Friggin. Following. Him.

Despite all possible ways to deter the ghost from going to school with him, including threats, bribery, and even a blunt 'There's no way in hell you're going', Alfred had apparently decided to completely ignore him and go anyway. He was currently dancing behind him, walking through random postboxes or telephone polls, and generally making a nuisance of himself. _'Just ignore him,'_ Arthur thought to himself. _'Maybe if he gets bored, he'll go away.'_

"Jeez, England," the other boy laughed as he sped up and bounced on the other boy's heels. "Who pissed in your cereal this morning?"

"England?" The skeptical blonde murmured, not looking up. A few people looked at him in confusion, but when he didn't react, they just looked back downward onto the street, figuring they'd imagined it.

"Yeah! That's your nickname now!" He proclaimed, walking through Arthur and beginning to walk backwards so the other boy had no choice but to look at him. "Because of your British accent!"

"I was born and raised in Liverpool. Lived there until I was seven," he said gruffly. This time, a few more people looked up, and Arthur turned his head up as if checking for rain. Gazes lingered on him for a little longer this time suspiciously, but also turned away eventually. The newly-nicknamed England shot Alfred a scorching glare, but the blonde just smiled agreeably.

"Doesn't excuse your cute little accent. And if I want to call you England, then I'm damn well going to call you England!"

"Well," England snarled under his breath. "I'll call you America then. Because you're arrogant and stupid."

"WHAT AN AWESOME IDEA!" Alfred cried. Arthur winced from the volume of his voice. "Why didn't _I_ think of it? The hero needs to have a nickname, too! And what's a better name for a hero than America?"

"You're supposed to hate it," England said sulkily.

"What?"

"You're supposed to hate it and realize how stupid the whole nickname thing is!"

"But the nickname thing is awesome, England!"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" He barked, then realized the entire street was staring at him. He felt his face turn red. "I-I-I do think it's going to rain!" he squeaked, scuttling off. He heard 'America' cackling behind him.

"THESE PEOPLE THINK YOU'RE TOTALLY BATSHIT INSANE!" he howled.

_'The longer I hang out with you,' _Arthur thought with a scowl,_ 'the more I will be.'_

--

"The answer is MEXICO!" Alfred said, pointing avidly at a number on the paper.

"Shut up," hissed Arthur, keeping his head down. He felt his teacher's piercing gaze on the back of his neck and tried to ignore the ghost perched comfortably on his desk.

"Trust me, dude. It's MEXICO!"

"Alfred, this is a quiz. That means no talking for me, and _that_ means shut your face."

"My name is AMERICA!" he persisted.

"No it's not!"

"Mr. Kirkland, do you have something you'd like to share with the class?"

"No, ma'am," he mumbled.

"Yeah, Kirkland," Alfred said, enjoying himself far too much. "Do you have something to share? Like the answer to number three being MEXICO?"

"Shut the hell up," he spat.

"Excuse me?" His teacher said, narrowing her eyes. Arthur froze and looked up to find the teacher standing right next to his desk.

"You heard that?" he managed to ask.

"Yes," she said in a voice dripping with both fake cheerfulness and acidity. "That's a zero on your quiz, Kirkland. And also, meet me after class." She grabbed his paper and stalked off, leaving Arthur gaping after her.

"Y'know, you really need to work on your people skills," Alfred said.

Arthur slammed his head on his desk. His life truly and officially sucked.


End file.
